


Mum's the Word

by General_Button



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Don't question anatomy, F/M, It's a pwp with lots of fluff, Mpreg, Omega!Sherlock, alpha!Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people assumed that Molly was an omega. Mousy little Molly, her hair tied neatly in a bun. Standing next to Sherlock she was often dwarfed by his personality and how very alpha he appeared to be. It was such a shame that the general population couldn’t see how clearly they were wrong about the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Sherlolly, especially like this. Taken from a kinkmeme prompt. Omega!Sherlock/alpha!Molly Omegaverse het mpreg. Sherlock gets pregnant unexpectedly and Sherlock and Molly have to work out the details.

Most people assumed that Molly was an omega. Mousy little Molly, her hair tied neatly in a bun. Standing next to Sherlock she was often dwarfed by his personality and how very alpha he appeared to be. It was such a shame that the general population couldn’t see how clearly they were wrong about the two of them. Not that she was particularly concerned with letting the world know about their their relationship just yet. 

No; for now, this was all hers. 

“How’s that?” Molly chirped, sliding her palm along Sherlock’s sweaty thigh. He lay under her, his eyes unfocused and glassy. It was difficult to concentrate when your alpha was pounding into you, mid-heat. Sherlock opened his mouth to respond and and instead moaned. Molly smirked, relieved that she had reduced him into a quivering mass, his grasp on the english language all but nil. 

Sherlock was gorgeous in heat. His once tidal commanding presence dissipated, and all that was left was a whimpering, squealing mess for Molly to take care of. She hiked his legs over her shoulders and slid in deeper, trying to reach the point where Sherlock started screaming. 

“Harder,” he gasped, shivering with each pull of Molly’s cock. “Molly, Molly, _Molly_ please.” Following the sound of his cries, Molly shifted until she was able to slide as deeply as possible, brushing over his prostate while simultaneously sliding into his vagina. Sherlock yelped and seized, pleasure wringing another unsatisfying orgasm from his tired body. Sherlock wanted to wrap his arms around her neck and inhale her intoxicating, alpha scent, but his position made it so he had to settle with gripping the sheets tightly, head tossing wildly. 

Molly licked her lips, tasting sweat. She’d much rather be tasting _Sherlock_ , but it was almost as satisfying to watch him come apart under him. Her thrusts started to slow as she lost her momentum, panting now. It was the second day of Sherlock’s heat, and sometimes it was difficult to keep up with him when he was like this. 

“Molly,” Sherlock moaned. She reached towards him and brushed aside his sweaty curls, encouraging him with a smile. “Please. Don’t stop. I’m so close.” He thrust against her as she slowed to a snail’s pace. While she hated to see Sherlock start to squirm and wriggle as the heat overtook his body, even she needed a small break. She settled with rubbing her burgeoning knot against his prostate repeatedly, releasing one hand so she could stroke his tiny prick at the same time. 

His stomach was covered in his own fluids, but in the middle of heat Sherlock seemed to care little for that sort of pleasure. Only when he was knotted did he seem to find any real satisfaction with the arrangement. It was usually then that he would beg for Molly’s hands and mouth on his cock. 

Her hips were already beginning to ache, but it was nothing she wasn't used to. As Sherlock catapulted through _another_ orgasm, Molly managed to find her strength and picked up the pace, fucking him hard—just the way he liked. “Please please Molly oh God please—“ Sherlock screamed and clung to her, his fingernails raking down her sides in an attempt to ground himself as he shook. His internal orgasms always look a lot out of him, leaving his insensate and shivering. Molly wouldn’t give up that look for anything. It bred an intimacy in Sherlock that he rarely displayed. Like now, Sherlock hid his face in her throat, each pulse of Molly’s momentum make him release a sharp moan.

Only when she was sure that Sherlock was truly and exhausted and ready for a knotting did she finally allow herself to tie him, dragging her cock against his walls in a way that she loved. If Sherlock went unsatisfied, she wouldn't get the rest she needed during the knotting and they'd _both_ be hurting by the time the next round began. She hissed, holding him down by his hips, and felt her fingers bruise Sherlock's skin as the knot inflated. 

Sherlock bit her shoulder while it happened, his body light as a feather and quivering. Once her knot was snug against his insides, Sherlock let himself fall back, covered in sweat and come. He looked completely sated. For now.

“Your technique is improving,” he said quietly. Molly scoffed and leaned over, pressing her lips to his chest. 

“Yes, that’s why you were screaming, wasn’t it? Oh wait, that happened last time. And the time before that. And before that.” She peppered kisses along his throat, lingering against the scent gland. _He smells delicious. Mine._ “How much longer do you think we have?” 

Sherlock looked at her, kissing her before he answered. Molly then buried her face in his neck, grunting through another orgasm. “You took your birth control, right?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yes, as I always do. I think we only have a half day left. Then we can go back to work.” Molly was used to his behavior by now, and didn’t take offense at the casual disregard for their sexual relationship. Even heat didn't matter when it came to The Work. Besides, Molly knew where he really stood. While he cast it aside so easily and paraded around in public, at home he was all hers. Molly imagined any other alpha would have been too possessive for Sherlock, so it was a good thing she was around. 

"Of course, darling. Just don't think you'll be getting away from helping me clean up this time."

Sherlock snorted, getting comfortable, and planned a way to do just that.


	2. Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect anything stellar. This is just a little thing I felt like writing ;)

Molly emerged from the shower in the middle of rubbing her hair dry, when she noticed that Sherlock wasn't where he usually sat while she showered. He liked silence, which meant the living room was his favorite hot spot. However, when she peeked around the corner he was nowhere to be found. Neither was he in the kitchen, nor upstairs in the extra bedroom where she allowed safe experimentation. Giving up on finding him, she approached her closet, pulled it open, and yelped. "Sh-Sherlock," she breathed, a hysterical laugh escaping her. "Don't scare me like that."

 

He didn't answer. _Maybe he's in his mind palace._  Molly hadn't expected to find him here...but it wasn't the most unusual of his hiding spots. Her lips quirked into a smile and she leaned down in order to kiss his forehead, still damp from his turn. It had been difficult getting him to take regular showers, but that was nothing in comparison to trying to make him  _eat_. She knelt beside him and slid her arms around his waist, nosing at his scent gland. "Mm, don't you smell lovely."

 

He immediately stiffened as her breasts pressed against his bicep, but it wasn’t in pleasurable anticipation. 

“Sherlock?” She turned his head, expecting to see something other than the blank look on his face. “Are you all right?” He didn’t normally look like this, and granted, his behavior  _was_ strange.

“Fine.” He seemed to recover suddenly, his face now to the brim with contentment. Molly wasn’t an idiot; she knew how easily he could falsify his emotions. 

“Sherlock,” she said, standing up so she could face him. He was faster, sweeping past her with the excuse that he had  _work to do_. "Sherlock..." She trailed off. Molly wanted to confront him, but she was ever so careful when it came to their relationship. Sometimes it felt so fragile, and she didn’t want to be one of those alphas that forced their mate to into situation. So, like a good mate, she let him stew on whatever was bothering him and followed him into the living room. She decided the best course of action was to pretend she wasn't concerned and let Sherlock come out with it when he was ready. Molly sat opposite to him, brushed her hair to over her left shoulder, and gazed at him briefly before she turned to her novel.  _I’m here. _  
__  
From his end, Sherlock looked calm. He knew that Molly could sense—and likely see—how distraught he was, but she had no idea what he was truly feeling inside. And that was panic. Pure, utter panic. 

Pregnant.  _Pregnant_. The word ran on an endless, frightening loop, like a parasitic earthworm, a cognitive itch. He remembered feeling strange one afternoon, sick to his stomach. John commented on the strength of his scent. He remembered a vague feeling of unease as he purchased that particular item of identification, more amused than anything at the thought of actually testing positive. Unfortunately, fate was having a good laugh at his expense. He may as well have been the sufferer of a tawdry romance novel; where the alpha and omega embraced the prosperity that his or her "fertile seed" had brought them. It was something Molly probably would have read. Sherlock glanced at her, drinking in the sight of her completely relaxed, reading a book.

 

The idea of a having a child had never occurred to him. He wasn’t entirely sure Molly wanted one in their not-so distant future.

He typed a few words into Google and watched as the search engine brought up thousands of photos of happy parents holding their children. Omegas with their alphas, respectively. He recognized an alpha-alpha couple that was famous for their efforts towards better adoption options for alphas. Between them they held a child, pink and wrinkled. Sherlock didn’t remember their names. 

When he looked up, Molly was staring at him. He opened his mouth.  _Say it_.

“I’m pregnant,” he didn't say. Instead he said, “what’s for dinner? I thought I might actually eat tonight.” The lines between Molly’s brows smoothed and she smiled at him, gorgeous in her small, but brilliant alpha nature. People tended to ignore this side of Molly, only seeing the shy omega. She was ferocious and protective. Sherlock could say that he truly loved her, even if he hadn’t worked up the courage to say it to her more than a handful of times. 

“Okay,you madman. I was thinking curry. How does that sound?” 

She always asked his opinion, even when he didn’t eat. _If I had a baby, that would change._  He could feel panic curl around the edges of his mind. His stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Curry is acceptable.” Molly stood, arranged her jumper, and walked into the kitchen, the color of her underwear exposed with each sway of her hips. Another time Sherlock would have grabbed the firm globes and suggested something in order to distract her. Right now, he just felt fragile. 

Turning back to his laptop, he tried to focus on his blog.  _ _ _ _  
____  


 

 

* * *

Molly wasn't a terrible cook by any means. Living alone meant learning a few tricks, and Sherlock enjoyed what Molly made. 

  
After a few bites of the curry, Sherlock began to feel nauseous. It was clear that he had an aversion to this in his pregnant state—or it was morning sickness. It could just as well be the anxiety churning in his stomach. He forced the feeling down and continued to eat. He didn’t want to be sick; being sick would mean that Molly would take notice, and she always grew especially keen when it regarded Sherlock's health. There would be no hiding that something was wrong. 

So he forced the dread and nauseous down, eating methodically until his entire plate was clean. “I see someone was hungry,” Molly remarked proudly. “Good?” 

“Good,” Sherlock agreed. He felt marginally safe. He’d probably nap the nauseous off if it persisted. Ha! One for Sherlock Holmes and zero for pregnancy. “Do you—“ before he could answer, he burped. Molly giggled. Sherlock smiled, covering his mouth as another burp worked its way up his throat. Only it wasn’t a normal burp; Sherlock’s eyes widened as the nauseous rose to a dangerously high level and lunged for the sink. With a sob he heaved the curry down the drain, hating himself for letting his happen.  _I shouldn’t have eaten. Stupid!_  Vainly, he hoped that Molly would just walk away and ignore him. 

“Oh God, oh Sherlock. What’s wrong?” But sweet, caring Molly rubbed his back and whispered sweet nothings until he stopped, rinsed his mouth, and sagged against her comforting weight. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. Was that it? I thought something else was wrong. Come on—let’s get you to bed.”

Sherlock allowed her to drag him into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out until all he could taste was mint. Molly's hand lingered on his forehead and she clicked her tongue. “You don’t feel very hot…maybe it  _was_  the food. But  _I_  feel fine.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. She took him into the bedroom and helped him undress. When he was under the sheets, she fetched her novel and slid in beside him. “Want my lap?” Sherlock was incredibly lucky that Molly's henning meant that he was free of questions for at least a time. He took the offer and pressed his head against her soft, warm thighs. It was easy to cling to the idea that maybe it had been the curry. Nothing else. 

 

  
_Tomorrow,_  he thought.  _I’ll tell her tomorrow_.


	3. John finds out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shit at case fic, so any "cases" will have the bear bones of any semblance of a real crime. Real short one today.

Sherlock did not, in fact, tell Molly about the pregnancy until much, much later. There was a case, and when Sherlock was on a case there was no room for morning sickness, or the thought of pudgy, small hands gripping onto his fingers and an angel’s smile. No, Sherlock was far too distracted with the case to even bother  _thinking_  about any baby.  
  
“Sherlock, this is the eighth time you’ve dry heaved today! You’ve actually thrown up twice.”   
  
“Thank you for counting, John!” Sherlock paused, processing this information for a beat. Eight times? Surely that couldn't be right. “Are you sure? Math isn't your strong suit, I know.” He hoped it would break the tension and derail any questions. John scowled good-naturedly, but he was not to be deterred and turned Sherlock towards him, serious. “Sherlock, if you’re sick, we’re not going to continue. Remember last time we were on a case and you came home sick? I thought Molly was going to kill me.”   
  
That had been a memorable moment. Sherlock reflected on it, wishing it was just that he was sick with the flu. Unfortunately, it was more than that. But Sherlock wasn't going to hear the end of it if he didn't give him information in regards to his health. The merits of telling John about his pregnancy would long outweigh the consequences. John was loyal; even if he felt the urge to tell Molly because Sherlock was too afraid, he would never betray his trust like that.  
  
“I’m pregnant,” Sherlock said.   
  
John choked on his next words, looking at Sherlock like he had sprouted a beard.   
  
“Oh my god. You- you are? I mean…congratulations?”   
  
“Molly doesn’t know.” Sherlock wiped his mouth, grimacing, and tried to ignore the silence between them. John’s silence was answer enough. He was probably _disappointed._  “I haven’t been able to find the right time. You know how busy we are with…things!”  
  
“Rights, things. Sherlock…”  
  
“I don’t know what to do," he interrupted before John could rest more guilt upon his shoulders. "Or say. How do people normally tell their mates that they’re pregnant?”   
  
“Um, cake? Letters? Some people have small boxes with the answer inside, I think. Like unwrapping a gift, for example, to find a rattle inside." John shook his hand. Imagining Sherlock pregnant was hard enough already. What would the kid look like? "You’re creative; you could put it in a toe or something.” John laughed, but it was strained.   
  
Sherlock sighed loudly. “Boring. You’re no help. Molly is…I don’t know how she’ll react. We don’t generally see children, and we never talked about it. She’ll probably—“ his voice hitched, betraying that what he said affected him in more ways than he was willing to admit. “She’ll want an abortion. She and I don’t have time for children. They’re messy and annoying and can’t do anything for years! And did I mention the mess—”   
  
“But you like them,” John interrupted. “You’ve always liked children. You may not like their mess or their ‘small minds,’ but— you know what? This is something you should talk about with Molly.” He paused. “And I thought you were taking birth control.”  
  
Sherlock shivered. “During heat, birth control is not 100% effective. I thought that we would be fine. We’re  _always_  fine. Christ.” Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed that this conversation was even happening. “Why couldn’t things just be easy? Don’t bother answering that, John, I know what you’re going to say.” He continued, in a mocking pitch, “’ _Sherlock, things are never easy with you!_ ’ Thank you for your input.”   
  
Rather than answer, John drew Sherlock into a hug. He stiffened in surprise, contemplated the merit of giving into his comforting gesture, and then relaxed. It wasn’t terrible: it was…nice. The support was surprisingly comforting and welcome.   
  
“You’re clever, Sherlock. You’ll figure it out.” He pulled away, looking at his friend in the eye.

“Now come on, we should bring you home."

"John." He looked at John and them began walking. "We have a criminal to track down! There's no time for waiting!” 

John jogged after him, concern radiating off of him. "But the baby, Sherlock!" 

He was _not_ an invalid and wasn't about to start being treated like one now. 

"John, do shut up."


	4. The Tell

“Oh God, Sherlock.”

Sherlock waited another week before telling Molly about the pregnancy. At six weeks he didn’t even have a belly yet, so Molly had yet to notice anything different about him. Despite how that should have eased him, he was hesitant to relax. The longer he took to tell Molly, the less time they had to make a decision for an abortion. He needed to tell her, and he wasn’t very good at being upfront.

So he had vied for a distraction.

Molly’s fingers tugged impatiently at his hair, trying not to grip too hard when it was clear that all she wanted to do was stick her cock down Sherlock’s throat and fuck his face. Sherlock hummed around her prick; he was used to its size and how much he could fit in his mouth, so he bobbed his head and took her deeper. Almost, but not quite, touching her deflated knot with his lips. Molly twitching, hissing an encouragement as Sherlock flattered his tongue around the underside as he worked his way further. Her thighs quivered with each long pull of Sherlock’s lips as he swallowed her down, going as far as his reflex would allow. It had been difficult to learn how exactly to let himself go and take her, but the sweet sound of her voice was worth it. He squeezed his thighs together at the sound of another moan: Molly's pleasure was almost as good as his own. Her fingers tightened as he swallowed hard, flattening his tongue and using it to press against the underside where she liked the pressure best.

“Oh Sherlock, _fuck._  You gorgeous thing.” She let her head fall for a moment, taking in her pleasure, but when she realized she couldn’t see Sherlock anymore, she whipped it forward and looked back at him. Sherlock met her eyes briefly and pulled back; far enough that the tip of her cock hung just above his shining lips. Then he swallowed her down again, working faster to bring her to orgasm.

“ _Oh._  God,Sherlock,” she whined, pulling at his curls with more abandon this time. He enjoyed it, moaning appreciatively around her thick girth.

However, this pace was far too slow for his liking. He knew another way to pleasure her. One finger snuck between her thighs and pressed at the small seam there which they both tended to ignore. While her vestigial vagina was rarely used for obvious reasons, but the dual pleasure was never something Molly complained about. Her voice rose higher, her chest heaving as Sherlock took her last few inches in his throat, fingers working at her cunt.

He knew that her end was near, so after a moment of hesitation he swallowed her as far as his gag reflex would allow, his eyes fluttering closed so he could focus. Pleasuring Molly in this way never got old as her hips twitched and she squealed, careening towards orgasm. Sherlock moaned as she fucked his throat in short, abortive movements and swallowing down the annoying amount of semen without any of his usual complaints. Normally he would spit it out, but he liked on occasion to see the look on her face when she realized he was going to swallow.

When she finished, he hid his grimace and licked her clean, pink tongue lapping at the head until it shined. One more small kiss to the tip and Sherlock pulled away, gauging to see Molly's reaction.

Her eyes were glazed over and her pupils were huge, so she was still in some ways aroused. Molly’s lips were a bit more plump and red from biting, and her thighs still shook slightly from his performance. <i> _Perfect. </i>_

After meeting his eyes, Molly heaved a few long breaths and then tried to make herself look presentable. When her hair wasn’t a gnarled mess from pressing against the chair, she looked at Sherlock with a look of undisguised love and adoration. It made his chest ache.<i> _It’s now or never._ </i>

“What brought this on?” she asked, at the same time that Sherlock said, “I’m pregnant.”

She froze, her back going stiff. “What did you say?”

Sherlock made a small keening sound in the back of his throat and stood up, turning away. He was an idiot. 

“I understand if you’re feeling doubts. I’ve already found a suitable doctor that will suit our needs. Omega, naturally. I wouldn’t want an alpha toying around in there—“

“Sherlock, hold on.” Molly pulled up her shorts and chased after Sherlock, who had begun to pace into the other hall. “Sherlock, hold it. You…you’re pregnant?” Molly’s voice caught, barely a squeak.

Sherlock shrugged her off and strolled into the living room, doing his best to act as though his heart wasn’t pounding. “Sherlock,” she snapped, a little out of her mind. Her omega was ignoring her! “Don’t do this. Look at me. _Sherlock_!”

Finally, he turned to face her. His face, which normally smooth with confidence, was riddled with guilt and and anxiety. Molly felt guilty that she had been too stupid to notice that something was wrong with her mate. “Oh my god,” she breathed, putting both hands over his cheeks. His face crumpled, like he might cry, but he only closed his eyes.

“I told you, I found us a doctor.”

“Sit down. Come here.” Molly led them to the sofa and sat down, pulling Sherlock next to her. She tried not to smother him and let him fizzle like the bright spark he was. “So, the birth control failed.” At Sherlock’s look, she started giggling, although it sounded more hysterical than she would have liked.

“Okay, okay. Um, Sherlock, how long have you known?”

He shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself. “Six weeks.”

“Right.” She let this process for a beat. “What…what do you want to do about this? I mean, we’ve never talked about this before. I’ve never even thought about it. Okay, that’s a lie. I have thought about it, but never in a literal sense. I mean, this is crazy! I just can’t believe that it’s happening.”

“Molly, you’re babbling.”

“Right.” She hugged herself, chilled in only her shorts. “Sorry. Talk to me. What do you want? An- an abortion?”

Sherlock looked at the floor, occupied with his toes for a few moments. “Do _you_ want an abortion?” He could feel Molly stiffen beside him. Omegas weren’t…encouraged to get abortions, and it wasn’t well accepted. But it was legal and completely in the right of the omega (and resident partner). Sherlock didn’t look over. He didn’t want to deduce what Molly was feeling.

“Sherlock, I honestly don’t know. I sound horrible, but...” She laughed, a pathetic, weak sound. This was a shock to both of them; of course she didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t expect this to come up today, honestly. It’s just been a horrible day, too. Naturally. We had to deal with a child death in the morgue, and the inspector needed me to start the autopsy right away. Said he might have something in him… it was horrid. He was just a little boy. And I know that will affect my decision if I make it now. I don’t know, Sherlock. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, an inelegant gesture. “We have time.” It seemed so simply, yet eluded the both of them. Sherlock was regretting telling her about the pregnancy now that it was in the open and ruining their night, but he also felt relieved. Some of the crushing weight was no longer just on his shoulders.

“Time. Yes. Okay.” After toying uselessly with her hair, Molly made a decision. “Can we just sit together? I want to be with you.” Sherlock didn’t protest, craving the attention himself, and lead her head until it rested on his thighs. Now it was his turn to run his fingers through her long hair away and will the answer to their problem reveal itself for them both.


	5. Just fluff

When the talk came, Sherlock didn’t feel prepared. He was testing the acidity of a specific element when Molly approached him, tussled and sleepy-eyed from sleep.

 “Sherlock,” she started, wrapping his palms around the top edge of the chair. “It’s been a few days, and I gave you your time. You've had a lot longer than I have anyway." She gave a short, bubbly laugh of anxiety. "So I think it’s time we talked.”

His back stiffened. Pure, blind panic assaulted Sherlock. The blood roared loudly in his ears. He could easily imagine hearing the sweet tilt in her voice when she said _I don’t want the baby_. Her answer would not surprise him in the least. Molly had never expressed any desire for children, and Sherlock by proxy would follow in her footsteps. He would never force something like this upon her carefully constructed life.

 By the time he snapped back to attention, he realized Molly was looking at him strangely.

 “Yes?” he croaked, his grip on the tweezers incredibly tight. The pain helped distract him from current events.

“Did you hear a word I said?” There was a smile there. Why was she smiling?

“No.” He set the tweezers down and regarded his mate. She walked over to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

 “Sherlock, what do you want?”

He opened his mouth, but was stopped by Molly’s finger. “Let me rephrase that. What do you, the bearer of this child, want? Don’t answer for me.” Her gaze was soft, but stern. She rarely displayed any of the frustrated anger that was so often found in other alphas like John Watson, and yet he cowed equally under her attention.

Molly slid up beside him, her hand resting gently over his knee. Sherlock didn’t feel trapped, exactly, but his throat was dry and his hands moved on their own to settle over Molly’s. What did he want? If Molly hadn’t carved a space inside his head, and a random alpha had created this baby, what would Sherlock do? Would he still feel this maternal urge?

“I," he stopped himself, forcing the part that said to think logically about the situation out the window. This was important. Molly wanted a real asnwer. "I don’t want an abortion,” he said, very quietly. He knew it was incredibly unlikely for Molly to hit him (even if she had been the stereotypical alpha brute), and he didn’t fear for her reaction, but all the same his eyes cast her way and he waited, watching her face.

 Molly wore a small smile, pride shining clearly in her eyes. “I was just thinking about Miranda for a girl. I wouldn’t mind a mini Sherlock running around, either.”

 Sherlock couldn’t help his reaction—he grinned, and then giggled, adopting Molly's nervous laugh. Joy settled in his stomach. Molly laughed and hugged him, running one hand possessively down his back. “You will be a wonderful father, Sherlock. Don’t let anyone discourage you.”

 Sherlock snorted. “You know how much I despise the general public. If I cared about their opinions, I wouldn’t have mated an alpha. You’re all terrible brutes.”

 Molly’s eyes were soft as she kissed him. “What were you thinking, mating me? And a baby, Sherlock? People are going to think you’re getting _domestic_.”

 “God forbid,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss against her mouth. Her lip gloss was cherry flavor. “I’ve heard that Sherlock is becoming a very popular girl’s name, you know.”

Molly giggled, burying her face in Sherlock’s neck. “Don’t even bother.”

* * *

Pregnancy was hard on Sherlock, at first. His tendency to refuse nourishment had weakened his body, and getting him back into a healthy state was more difficult that Molly had anticipated. Sherlock at the beginning seemed fine (especially considering she hadn’t noticed the pregnancy at all), but within the third month his morning sickness became unbearable. He was constantly in a state of nausea and rarely wanted to leave the house.

 Molly tried to encourage him to go out and get fresh air, but he just curled on the sofa and moaned.

“My poor, sick baby,” Molly cooed, brushing her fingers through his curls. He leaned into the touch, his face pale. “You need to try and eat something. If you keep throwing it up, how will you help the baby?”

 _God_. Every time she thought about the baby, her mind went blank. Sherlock had clearly made his peace with the idea, but Molly felt like she was still trying to absorb the information. When she’d been little, Molly had imagined that she would be the one carrying the baby, a big strong alpha holding her by her shoulders. Of course, as she grew she learned what was biologically impossible and her tastes changed.

She’d always preferred smaller omegas; the types that could easily curl in one’s arms. Big, burly men or women had never attracted her. Maybe it was the alpha part of her seeking out a smaller, more manageable mate, but she couldn’t help herself. However, when Sherlock had come along, her heart (and her dick) had perked at the sight of him. He was _gorgeous_ and completely, totally alpha. Subsequently, he was the very first person that wasn’t a famous songwriter, actor, or actress to make her question her sexuality. When she learned he was an omega, she held onto her crush for years in hopes he would see her.

And now he was hers, carrying _her_ baby. It made her stomach bubble with something undeniably happy. Molly buried her nose in Sherlock’s hair, smiling. “I love you,” she whispered. Sherlock answered by dry-heaving into the bucket beside him.

* * *

 

Two weeks and a doctor’s visit later and Sherlock was finally swallowing his foods with more anticipation and less dread. The pills really helped, and the pale colour of his skin became pink and flushed. He actually started looking pregnant, too.

“Ugh,” groaned Sherlock, running his hand over his distended belly. Molly slid to her knees, pressing her thumb against his navel.

 “I remember you being less pregnant an hour ago,” she teased. Sherlock grunted, his face pained.

“I haven’t been able to swallow for weeks and you expect me to stop when you give me this much food? This is your fault.”

 Molly bit her lip. It was true that she had gone a little overboard cooking for him, but that didn’t mean that she had force-fed him the food, threatening bodily harm. Sherlock had swallowed every delicious bite all on his own.

 “Yes, blame it on me.” Molly sighed, leaning forward to kiss his belly. “You’re going to have heart burn tonight.” At his look, she tried to defend herself. “I didn’t expect you to eat most of it. I just…wanted you to have something nice.” The kind of life she hadn’t been able to have as a child. Her mother had always told her she projected her feelings onto others.

 Sherlock’s eyes, sharp even in his food-coma agony, followed her movements. “Make it up to me,” he demanded. “Now.”

Molly grinned. “How should I do that?” She kissed her way down his stomach, her hands rubbing gentle circles along his hips. “Would you like a little something, or do you just want me to rub your tummy?”

 Sherlock paused, considering the dark look in Molly’s eyes, but ultimately the pain in his stomach stopped him. “Start rubbing,” he commanded, trying not to moan as Molly’s hands, delicate and experienced as a surgeon’s, ran over the swell. "I could use a hot water bottle, actually."

Molly ignored him for the moment, exploring. “You’d think there are two in there.” Sherlock grunted, not bothering with a rebuttal. He couldn’t imagine handling one, let alone two. He prayed that when the time came that would not be the case.

“Molly Hooper, are you calling me fat?” She then proceeded to rub a sweet spot on him that made Sherlock groan. It was as good as any response.


	6. Hormones

Molly woke up to something rubbing against her lower body. She blinked her eyes open rapidly, trying to gather an awareness of her surroundings. It didn’t take long. She was used to Sherlock cuddling or rubbing his body along hers in his sleep. This time, though, there seemed to be an air of urgency about him. It took her longer than she would have liked to realise that he had her cock in his hand, stroking her into hardness. “Sher-“ she swallowed, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

 His eyes, bright even in the dark, were wild. “What do you think?” he hissed. “This is your bloody fault. Hormones. I need—“ he reached for her and Molly sat up, taking hold of his shoulders.

“Are you sure? At this stage, I’m not sure...” Even now she worried. Molly didn’t understand how he was so completely insatiable at only five months. After the first few months she had resigned herself to wanking alone, but once his body had started growing big and healthy—well, so had his libido.

At Sherlock's angry scowl, she reconsidered her words. A little couldn't hurt, right?. Molly reached towards his cock, hot and damp in her palm, and started stroking him. He made a sound, shuddering against her shoulder. “Do you want me to suck you off?” she whispered in his ear, encouraged by his soft moan. He liked missionary, but she knew it hurt his back. “You can fuck my mouth, hm? Or you could ride me if you’re up for it.”

Sherlock nuzzled his damp forehead into her neck, inhaling the virile scent. He would love to ride her, but his legs already felt like gelatin and he doubted he would be much help. So he reached for the headboard and pulled himself up, allowing Molly to take the initiative and pull down his pants. He could try and stand, but he felt weak from sleep. He liked it like this.

“Good?” she asked.

Sherlock looked down at her and nodded, resting his knees firmly on either side of her head. He knew it was an awkward position for her—one that required the help of a pillow—but he was grateful all the same. “I just want you all the time,” he whined, as if defending his own actions. He hated the tone of his voice—as if he were just some simpering omega that…had the most amazing mate ever.

Sherlock’s head dropped and he rocked his hips into the warmth of Molly’s mouth. “Oh God.” Biting his lip, he dropped one hand and buried it into Molly’s hair, pulling her toward him. Molly dutifully relaxed her mouth before swallowing.

Sherlock squirmed, his hips stuttering. “Molly.” He started with a gentle rhythm, shivering with each hot, wet pull. His pace stayed lazy and sedate, relishing in each drag of his prick between her lips. Molly let him take control, but her tongue stayed pressed firmly on the underside.

“Mmn, Molly.” Sherlock’s mouth hung open, his tongue darting to wet his lips. Molly moved forward until her nose touched the coarse hair around his pelvis and moaned purposefully. Sherlock echoed her, rocking more forcefully into her mouth. “Oh god, your mouth.” He took hold of her hair and shoved his cock as far as it would go. While he was small, Molly still choked in her surprise before she caught herself and forced her throat to relax, breathing through her nose.

Sherlock made those high whimpering noises that signaled he was about to come; and sure enough he froze, sobbing as he shuddered and came. Molly only had to swallow, tasting little to nothing.

When she was sure that Sherlock was spent, she pulled back, pausing to clean him with her tongue. “Better?” She asked, ready to ignore her own need for the moment. Sherlock was often too tired after an orgasm this late to even think about her. True to her assumptions, he slumped down and laid his head on her chest, groaning happily. “It was perfect. You’re perfect. Sherlock Jr. is very happy as well.” 

“You’re welcome.” Molly laughed. “You’re an odd one. Sherlock Jr.? Is that what we’re naming them?” 

“Yep.” Sherlock smacked his lips and turned, sighing with content. Molly twitched and began pulling down her shorts. Sherlock was now sated and would eventually fell asleep, inevitably rolling away on his own, but she could still do something for herself. Sherlock, ever the good mate, didn't bother to pull up his pants and instead kicked them off the bed, grunting affirmation. Molly settled behind him, her cock bobbing eagerly towards his arse.

How dearly she wanted to thrust inside, but that would mean a lot of prep and cleanup. And while she would love to have Sherlock sleepily pliant and wet around her, it wasn't worth it. She pressed her hard prick to the crack of his arse and rubbed herself eagerly over the expanse. Sherlock pressed back against her, growling in challenge. It was his attempt at making her more alpha nature show and it always, totally worked. She returned to growl and started thrusting erratically against his back, chasing the pleasure of her mate. Molly spread her hands across Sherlock's back, remembering the feel of those muscles clenching underneath her to fuel the fire. Watching the shiny head of her cock disappear between Sherlock's pert also helped as well. 

"Look at you." Molly slowed, placing a few furtive kisses against his back. "God. You're pregnant." As Molly wrapped her arms around his waist she heard him snort, but she was focused on the waves of possessiveness and love that drove her to bite at Sherlock's neck and the bondmark there. "You're pregnant because of me. I did that. Because you're _mine_." She gripped his hips and rocked hard against Sherlock, jolting the two of them further on the bed. Molly rolled her hips a few more times, sniffing Sherlock's neck all the while, and then came with a quiet whimper. A part of her was very satisfied by the way she painted Sherlock's back with come, but the other, more sensible part of herself was horrified. 

Sherlock sighed happily and turned to steal a sleepy kiss. "Better?"

“Yes. The things I do for you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He giggled, eyes already drooping again.

 “You love me.”

“I do.” Molly rested her hand on his bloated stomach, smoothing her fingers over the skin. “I really do.”


	7. Fetish, what fetish?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock suspects Molly has a fetish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And more random porn. I don't know where this story is going, but I imagine I'll at least have the baby come out soon. There's never been any beta, so who knows what this looks like? Hope you enjoy it.

“You have a pregnancy fetish."

The best part about living with Sherlock was the unpredictability of his nature. She never knew what to expect at times, and the moment could go either a good way or a bad way. Molly set down her novel and stared at Sherlock, who was about sixth months pregnant with her baby. “Sorry, what? Did you just say I have a pregnancy fetish?” There was lauhgter in her voice. And as amusing as that was, Molly had no idea where it had come from.

“Mm.” Sherlock stretched, his shirt riding up his stomach. Molly tried not to stare, and utterly failed. It still felt remarkable whenever she realised that that baby inside Sherlock was theirs. It made her body tingle with excitement and a multitude of emotions.

When he slipped his hands under the shirt and groaned, she slammed her book shut. “Sherlock.”

“What? I was merely showing you what you’ve clearly been missing all this time. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

“I do not—“ her face was on fire. “I do not have a fetish for people being pregnant, thanks. I find you attractive because you’re my mate and I love you.”

“It’s not uncommon for alphas,” Sherlock continued, completely ignoring her protests. “Everyone eventually succumbs to the desire, hm? You all love to talk about breeding and filling your mates with pups.”

She remembered dark fantasies with just that and repressed a shiver. That was just _biology_ talking. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He heaved himself off of the sofa, pain briefly crossing his face. 

“Look.” Molly slid her hands over her thighs. “Even if I did have something like that, which I don’t, why would it matter? How would you know? Maybe you have a fetish for _being_ pregnant.” 

Sherlock shrugged, as if the idea didn’t seem half bad. “People regarded fetishes as something secretive and shameful. While there are some that should be shamed, for sure—such as any regarding child pornography—most are really tame. A moderate amount of the population has a foot fetish.” Sherlock lifted his foot, wiggling his toes. His feet were swollen from the pregnancy; he’d probably be asking for her famous foot rub in about an hour. 

“Thank God I don’t. That just seems…awkward. What if it’s summer and everyone is wearing sandals?” Sherlock smiled at her, amused, and motioned for her to come to him. 

 “Come on. Rub my sexy feet and then we can get to experimenting.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, but resolved herself to her fate and followed Sherlock. 

 

* * *

Apparently this so-called experiment detailed the two of them having sex. Simple and very vanilla. Molly was more than okay with this. Especially considering the fact that Sherlock grew more wanton the further the pregnancy progressed. It was an intoxicating feeling to watch him rock his body in her lap, neck elongated as he struggled not to make too much noise. 

Molly thrust into the tight warmth enveloping her cock, ignoring the part of her that still worried about Sherlock’s health in these situations. She instead focused on the gorgeous man above her, relishing in each of his moan. “Sherlock,” She whispered, eyes straying to his belly. He was huge and round, his navel close to popping. She gripped his thighs, spread wider over her body, and encouraged his hands to rest on her chest or shoulders. 

Sherlock let out a sob as the angle allowed her to start thrusting more smoothly inside him. His lips trailed along her throat, pressing insistently against her scent gland. “Molly, Molly, please, Molly,” he chanted, his hips working forcefully down onto her cock. He sounded wrecked, in a way that reminds her of the time when he wanted to be fucked, to be _bred_. As if sensing her thoughts, one of Sherlock’s hands reached down and took hers, pressing it to his stomach. At the contact, he released a low moan.

 _Fuck_. Molly’s fingers curled more insistently against his waist, no doubt leaving bruises as she doubled her efforts, driving into him so hard that the bed began to creak worryingly. 

 Sherlock’s arms came around her neck and shoulders as he shivered, almost choking her. “Molly. Oh, God, _Molly_. Harder. I want to feel you fill me, make me fat and huge with your pups.”

Molly growled, resisting the urge to throw him onto his back and start fucking him like a wild animal. She knew on some level that he was acting, trying to figure out the inner workings of this fetish (because Sherlock would never say those things otherwise), but Molly couldn’t help that with each slap of their skin, she worked harder to rip each little moan from his gorgeous mouth. Molly ran a free hand over his chest, pinching his nipples. Sensitive with the slight growth of his breasts, Sherlock let out a shocked little moan. Encouraged, Molly kept exploring, running her hand over the parts of his stomach she could reach, while periodically returning to his nipples. Unfortunately she couldn't reach his cock, but by the way that he was groaning she didn't think she had to. Molly worked her cock inside him, focusing on deep strokes that hit his g-spot. 

Sherlock made a garbled sound and shuddered. His back curled with tension and canted his hips, the pressure in his gut exploded into flashes of sensation. "Molly, oh. _Oh_." He didn't quiet his voice as he came, crying out against her chest as she pumped her hips in order to maximize his pleasure.

With Sherlock tight and shivering above her, it wasn't difficult for Molly to take hold and give into her own pleasure. It felt like sparks were going off inside her as she came harder than she normally would outside of heat, making muffled noises against Sherlock's shoulder.

Molly fell back panting, her eyes half-lidded. As they lay there catching their breath, Sherlock carefully and gracelessly extracted himself from Molly, flopping down next to her. He cuddled as close as his stomach would allow, looking pleased with himself. “Pregnancy. Fetish.” 

 Molly smacked his hip. “Don’t even try to act like you didn’t enjoy it just as much. It’s instinct, I tell you. Alphas just want to fuck and breed. I’m much more gentle when your hormones aren’t stinking up the room.” 

“Maybe, but right now my back would beg to differ.” He groaned, stretching until Molly heard a few loud pops. 

“Oh, oh dear.” She sat up quickly, good mood gone. Now she was fretting, her hands hovering above Sherlock’s body. “Do you want a massage? I’m sorry— oh, I’m just horrible. I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?” 

He laughed. “Never change, Molly. Please.” Sherlock relaxed his muscles and rested one hand over where the baby had just kicked. He’d tell Molly about that in a moment.


	8. Nesting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2016 update:   
> I have to apologize to the people still waiting at home for this. While I still love these two, I've moved on from the Sherlock fandom, so unless I get back into it, I don't think I'll be finishing this.

“Hullo, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly said, pushing the door closed behind her. The chill followed even after she was greeted with the warmth of Baker Street, marking the cold season as official. Christmas was on its way; Molly needed to think about presents for Sherlock _and_ the baby.

“Hello, dear,” her landlady cooed, bringing in Molly for a hug. She, among others, was very excited for the baby to arrive. Molly couldn't blame her. It felt like it had been ages since they first got the news.

“Has Sherlock been behaving himself? I know he’s been dreadful to me ever since he realized he could no longer reasonably go out on a ‘fun’ case. I can’t imagine what it’s like when I’m not there.”

Before Mrs. Hudson could reply, they heard an awful sounding crash. Molly didn’t hesitate and shot up the stairs, her instinct kicking in. Anything _could_ have happened to Sherlock or the baby. "Sherlock?" shouted Molly. "What happened?"

She threw open the door, breathing hard, and felt an instantaneous rush of relief when she saw Sherlock looking innocently at the wreckage of what appeared to be her favourite lamp. It had fallen and both the base and the bulb had shattered beyond repair.

“Oh, God. You scared me, Sherlock! Is everything all right? What were you doing with that?” Now that she looked around, Molly noticed that much of the flat appeared different. He'd been doing _something_ , apparently. Books, which once laid in a half-hazard pile were now organized and put in their proper place. The coffee table and surrounding area, generally a disaster when Molly didn’t have the energy to clean, was spotless. Even the living room was clearly on its way; although the pillows were missing.

“What’s this, then?” she said, when Sherlock hadn’t answered. “Early Christmas present?”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s barely July, isn’t it?” For a moment Molly thought he was serious, until she saw the smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth.

“Very funny, darling. Really, what are you doing? And don’t touch that glass; you’ll get hurt.” Molly rushed to pull him away from the mess. “Just last night you were complaining that you couldn’t even move, let alone get yourself a glass of water. Now you want to clean the flat—Oh. Oh, I see.“

Sherlock shot her a look that spoke volumes. “Shut up.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she gushed.

“Why are you smiling like that? I hardly see how anything about this situation is funny.“

“You’re nesting,” Molly teased. “I wasn’t sure you would, you know. You’re not really like other omegas in many extraordinarily good ways, but it’s a relief to see you acting, well, maternal, I suppose.”

“I am not maternal. Why does everyone say that?” Molly’s relief and good feelings made up for her favourite piece of furniture disappearing, so she wasn't affected by Sherlock's irritation.

She approached Sherlock for a hug, and he accepting Molly’s embrace, burying his face in her neck in order to scent her. To him, she smelled of lilacs.

“We’re just excited for you.” Molly returned the favor, although when she scented Sherlock, it was far more aggressive. She rubbed her lips over his throat and smoothed her hands obsessively over the swell of his bump, eager to forget being away from her mate for so long. “How is my little angel doing, anywho?”

Sherlock rubbed his cheek across Molly’s shoulder. “Fine, aside from causing me grief, gas, and a pea-sized bladder.” He mouthed at the crook of Molly’s neck, just over the scent gland.

"It's only temporary, though. Think of it that way." At the touch of his mouth Molly shivered, then pulled Sherlock closer. “Sherlock,” she warned. “If you’re teasing me, you should stop because you smell delicious and there’s nothing more I’d like than to curl up with you in bed.”

Sherlock pressed a sweet kiss to her lips and looked at her with clear intent. Molly slipped her hands under his shirt, ready to begin the festivities until he suddenly shoved her away, his warm, sultry gaze replaced with something far more calculated.

“These curtains…” he murmured. Molly had to remind herself that it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with Sherlock being, well, himself.

“What is it?” she replied, sounding weary.

Sherlock turned to face her. “Oh, yes, sex. You wanted that, didn’t you?”

Molly smiled. “Well--it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to stop the mind at work. Now what was that about the curtains?”

“I was just thinking that the curtains would be the best color to paint the baby’s room, until I decided I had become partially insane. What baby would want to be surrounded by that shade of green?”

They were quite horrid. “Does that mean we’re setting up the baby’s room now? The last time I asked, you didn’t talk to me for three hours.”

Sherlock shrugged, one hand drifting to rub at the swell of his stomach. Molly tried not to think about the attractive parts of Sherlock. Their sex life had all dried up ever since he hit his sixth month. If anything, she was lucky to get a hand besides her own. Either Sherlock’s upper back, lower back, chest, shoulders, breasts, and/or ankles ached, or his mood was off the charts.

“It was a stupid question. Of course we were going to make a nursery. I didn’t see why it required an answer, and you never asked again. I thought you’d bring it up eventually.”

“So, in reality, you forgot? Or did you delete it?” She reached to pull Sherlock in her arms, pleased to find him sinking into her embrace. "I would have been planning all this time had I known I was meant to be a mind reader.”

“Yes, well.” He coughed.

Molly rather thought he was embarrassed enough, and saved him from further humiliation by peppering kisses along his sensitive throat.

“Just remember that sometimes even I need a little help, Sherlock Holmes.” She murmured over his groan. “And speaking of your name, we haven’t discussed what the little terror will be called. We certainly can’t keep calling it ‘baby’.”

Sherlock wriggled against her body. “Mm. Anything that isn’t Sherlock or Mycroft. My family has been polluted by horrible, stuffy names for long enough.”

“Then it’s a good thing that there’s a Hooper around, isn’t there? Holiday dinners at my home are the very definition of unrefined. Everyone comes from everywhere. It’s quite a mess, really.”

"Speaking of messes..." Sherlock turned to look at her, his gaze dark. Apparently she would have time to talk about her family later. “Are you still in a state of arousal by the fact that I’m pregnant with your pup?”

Molly choked, cheeks growing warm. “Sherlock! Way to make it sound completely _vulgar_.“

“Oh, calm down. It’s hardly inapplicable to just about every alpha ever. It’s instinct. You are satisfied by a successful breeding. More than, I’d say.”

Sherlock pressed his belly against her waist, and she could do nothing but let him arouse her like this, all ruffled and gorgeous. His weight was heavy underneath her hands, only serving to make it worse. Molly felt only vaguely ashamed by this.

“You’re not just going to run off to buy different curtains, are you?” Sherlock began mouthing at Molly’s neck, making quiet sounds that he knew would drive her absolutely mad. Her breath hitched.

“No. I have been aware of your attentiveness these past few months. It isn’t easy, as I’m sure your aware. Take it as my thanks, Molly.”

She froze. “Oh, no, no. Sherlock, you really don’t have to. No, wait, let me rephrase that.” God, she was cocking it all up. Molly couldn’t have Sherlock feeling guilty because of something as wonderful as what they created. “You don’t owe me anything.. It’s a partnership; if I was unhappy, I would tell you. I don’t want you feeling like you’re some sort of beast.”

Molly cupped his cheeks, kissing away his belligerent expression. “I should be thanking you. Only give to me what you feel up for. Are you actually randy or are you just being nice?”

When Sherlock appeared to actually contemplate her words, she considered that a victory.

“I’m…tired. In all honesty, I have a greater urge to clean the kitchen than have sex, but you deserve something nice in return for—me.”

“I do have something nice. I have _you_.” She also just remembered the glass not a few feet behind them.

Molly was becoming so careless at this stage. After carefully moving them away, she mentally sorted out her priorities. It was hard to think when Sherlock made the flat smell like a freshly baked oven, but in a way that had nothing to do with food, and everything to do with his scent.

“Now you go finish nesting while I clean up all this glass. Then, if you're up for it, we can have dinner, a cuddle, and then sleep. How does that sound?”

"Fine. Just hurry up; my feet ache and I'd like a massage."

Naturally. Molly gingerly stepped over the shattered remains while Sherlock made a beeline for the kitchen table. He began picking things up and putting them off to the side; it was enough to convince Molly that she had made the right decision. He could always return the favour after they finished making the flat look decent.

"What are you feeling tonight?" She inspected a particularly sharp piece, and then shoved it in the bin with the rest of the lot. "And don't say Chinese, because it isn't happening. Remember the last time I gave in?" Molly heard his angry retort echo behind her and smiled. 


End file.
